There is a siren song that beckons many of us here in this part of the world. It is the song of moving water, the blood that courses through the thirsty landscape of the northern Rocky Mountains. The streams and rivers sprawl across the land, carving valleys and lapping at the edges of the communities that have sprung up along them. And those waters feed and cleanse the land and all that moves upon it, while also providing challenge and wonder and untold pleasures to the humans who are drawn to them.Last evening, just downstream from the place where Rattlesnake Creek joins the Clark Fork in Missoula, where a sandbar is again emerging from the high flows of the last few weeks, I watched as a human tapestry played homage to the rushing waters of what was once known as the Missoula River.
On the stones and cobble freshly visible above the slowly receding waters, two lawn chairs were strategically perched so that the occupants could dangle their feet in the chilly shallows. From those chairs, two anglers plied the seam in the water where the clear flow from Rattlesnake Creek joined the mocha of the main river, hoping to lure one of the trout that wait there for food to gather in the swirling eddy.
Meanwhile, several other folks crowded onto the sandbar. A young mother had located a portable crib almost at water’s edge, near to the chairs. A toddler, safely ensconced in the crib, hung on to the canvas-covered top rail, intent upon the actions of the anglers working the water a few feet away.
A blanket, a cooler, and other accoutrements of a picnic were also in evidence as folks moved in and out of the scene, casting, watching the casting, and just passing by. All of this happened in full view of the contingent of diners enjoying the evening from the Finn and Porter deck.
All of us, of course, were drawn by the river.
So are those who stroll the wonderful riverfront trails on fine summer evenings. The same goes for the kayakers who gather at Brennan’s Wave, and the folks who gather above to watch their demonstrations of skill and showmanship.
Elsewhere, the same waters draw people in search of solitude and those in need of the soothing qualities of clear cold water that can for a moment, at least, be balm for the trials and burdens we bear through the long days of life.
For others, it is the wonder of the living things that teem beneath the surface of the shining waters, the delicate filaments of the web of life that connect everything back to its own origins.
Today, that means those wonderful salmon flies that are emerging on Rock Creek and other streams in western Montana. The magic of the salmon fly is not just in what it does to the inhibitions of trout, be they rainbow, brown or native cutthroat. It is also what those beautiful big flies do to those who come to rivers in search of trout. The feeding frenzy of the trout is mirrored in the frenzy of anglers to get out on the water and participate in the festivities.
A salmon fly hatch on any stream is an amazing thing to see. When it comes to fly-fishing, things cannot get much more deluxe than when the sky is filled with clouds of insects and the fish are attacking anything that floats by within range.
I am distracted as I type these words because I, too, am surrendering to the siren call of moving water. As you read these words, I will be somewhere on the far side of the Continental Divide making a beeline for Camp Baker, the put-in on the Smith River. My pal Homer was lucky enough to draw a permit this year, and all whom he has invited along are fortunate because the Smith is flowing along bank-full, a rare occurrence at this time in recent years.
If you are not on the Smith or camped along a favorite river when Saturday evening rolls around, here’s a suggestion that might whet your appetite for the pleasures awaiting on area lakes and streams. The Trout Conservancy of Montana, a locally based conservation organization, is holding its second annual auction and benefit dinner. The event will be held at the University of Montana Center beginning at 6 p.m.
As for me, I will be camped along the Smith listening to its siren song.
Greg Tollefson is a freelance Missoula writer whose column appears each week in Outdoors. He can be reached at gtollefson@bresnan.net.
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